


Silent in the Trees

by Syarue



Category: Bandom, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Car Radio, Dark, Depressing, Inspired by Music, M/M, POV First Person, Trees, Vague, forest, not really romance, not sure what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 05:19:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14489655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syarue/pseuds/Syarue
Summary: I see my reflection in the forest, but why won't you speak?





	Silent in the Trees

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little thing I wrote after listening to Trees and Forest 21 million times in a row. It's not really a romance fic and everything is so vague that I kind of hesitated to post it here. I felt a little guilty putting up the Joshler tag but in one sense, it is a Joshler fic, so...okay idk bleh  
> But give this a try, and try to picture inside your head who's who and what's what.

> **_‘I know where you stand, silent in the trees’_ **
> 
>  
> 
> * * *
> 
>  

“Hello?” I ask.

Only my own dry voice echoes back. I do not see my image in those brown pupils. What I see in the reflection is me, but it is not me. Its hollow eyes are boring into mine, but it does not see me. Just looking distant. Different. Forbidden.

I am inside a forest, engulfed in the murk that shrouds everything in it. The only source of light is the subtle shimmering glow radiating from a lonely mirror that sits in the midst of the trees. It is what I have been looking into for as long as I can remember. It is the sole thing I can lay my eyes upon in this cold, desolate place. But it does not provide what I am looking for. The figure beyond the surface is unreachable, it is untouchable. It does not hear a thing I say, no matter how many times I say it, how loud I shout it at the top of my lungs.

Our eyes are locked. Our eyes are locked, but it truly is not. Is ‘our’ the right choice of word when it is my own reflection that I see? But then, is this really  _me_? Or is it someone else that has my name? Are we a ‘we’ or a ‘me’?

It is different from me and I can see with my pained heart that it is feeling bliss beyond measure. On its lips, I spot something that had long since left me. A smile; a pure, golden, and beautiful smile. I do not know whether to feel a surge of anger or yearning, because it is too complicated and frustrating to witness what looks like me taking something I am destitute of for granted. It’s just not fair. I should be the one that is happy, not this imposter-fraud-shadow.

But then, the hope that had already sprouted within my heart a thousand times voices out again, that when I reach out to it, when I finally talk to it, there would be my share of happiness, too. I claw at the surface of the mirror once again, but my trembling fingers slip through it, as though I am trying to catch a cloud in my grasp. I try again and again. Hoping in vain that one time, the warmth of a human being will greet me instead of the clammy air that clasps my hands each and every time. I let out a cry of anguish as I fall to my knees.

“ _Why?_ ” I yell, tears streaming down my cheeks. “Why won’t you  _speak_?”

Despite my ugly cries, the being inside the mirror stands tall, the smile never faltering from its face. Not even once does it open its mouth----it is deaf to my agony and blind to my sorrow. I grow weaker by the minute while it grows stronger by the second. Eternity has cursed me, but I know that there is no time left. This is not what I had planned. This is not what I had planned.

I had felt its breath. Real breaths of a human being, but not quite. It is what I am supposed to be, king of a kingdom, swinging on a swing. At the same time, it is what I am not.

Then I realize some things are unchangeable. Some things are irreversible, you just have to let it go, hands held higher. There is no point in craving and regretting.

I slowly scramble to my feet to gaze at the reflection once again. The never-changing happiness still veils its overall presence, unable to sense my ache and tears. But does it matter? I step away from the mirror. Step by step, I walk away from the mirror. My bizarre image, though, moves not a spot but simply follows me with its lambent eyes as I go. The smile seems to be whispering: “ _Goodbye._ ” Quiet is violent.

I start singing a chorus, one that everybody knows. A small fire sparks from the bottom of the intangible mirror as I begin the song. I blankly watch the spark developing into a flare, and then a flame, and then a blaze. The darkness prevailing in the forest creeps away inch by inch when the orange blaze devours its way through the trees. It consumes everything and everywhere, all except me and the now fading image of the other ‘me’.

“Coward,” I say, when the song is finished. Whether that is directed towards me or the reflection is unclear. It would not make much a difference if it were a comment for the reflection.

“I want to know you. I want to see. I want to say…,” I bite back the faint hint of tears.

It almost looks like it is listening to what I am saying, standing silently like that.

“But I won’t.”

The fire catches and when I lift up my hands to inspect my palms, I find that the tear stains have turned to gasoline. It is me who had set this black woods on fire. The flame courses up my legs and lands on my hands, but I am not alarmed. This is what I had planned.

“Are you ready?” a new voice tenderly asks from behind. I do not need to turn to see who it is.

“Yes,” I reply.

“Are you sure?”

“I am,” I respond, more firmly this time.

Everything is red, orange, and yellow. The fire’s grips have expanded even further now. It proceeds to cover my arms and neck, then eventually my face. Though there is no physical pain, my heart which had no rhythm in it in the first place starts to contort and it suffocates me. It suffocates me even though I have no breaths. The last of my tears skids down my skin and the fire burning through it makes way for the briny bead of defeat.

When I am about to close my eyes for the last time, I catch the last glimpse of the reflection in the insatiable blaze.

It walks out of the fire like a mirage made of flames. Still smiling, it says

“Hello.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to know how some of you interpreted this because I love listening to alternative explanations. If you're curious I might tell you a few things in the comments. However, my intentions could also be one of the many possible stories.


End file.
